


Counterpoints

by Argyle



Series: Bookends (Old Friends) 'Verse [2]
Category: Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter (2012), Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter - Seth Grahame-Smith
Genre: 5 Times, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26751028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argyle/pseuds/Argyle
Summary: Four times Abe didn't tell Henry he loved him, and one time he did.
Relationships: Abraham Lincoln/Henry Sturges
Series: Bookends (Old Friends) 'Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948075
Kudos: 11





	Counterpoints

Abe had never seen so many books in his whole life.

There were books of philosophy and poetry; natural sciences and astronomy; art and history. There were novels and plays. There were at least fifteen editions of the Holy Bible, hand-inked in Greek and Latin, and printed in German and English. There were works which, to Abe's eye, were quite possibly pornographic. And there were several well-worn manuscripts written on the subject of – and written _by_ – vampires.

There were, Henry confirmed, more than a thousand individual volumes in total. He beamed with pride, running his fingers over the spines as if they were indeed precious to him. Then, arching a brow: "Where shall we begin? Perhaps you're fond of the classics?"

Abe hesitated. "I haven't really... That is, maybe you could choose one for me."

And it was settled. After the day's work was done and Abe felt contentedly satiated from the supper Henry had concocted for him, after Henry poured a mug of tea for Abe and a glass of bloodwine for himself, they took to reading Homer's _Odyssey_ together.

Henry enunciated clearly, and with great emotion.

And Abe didn't dare nod off. He didn't dare miss one word.

*

"Your fire has gone out."

The voice startled Abe awake. He blinked blearily, slow to come back to himself. Had there just been the touch of wind on his face? The smell of sun-warmed pine needles in his nose? But no. He was seated at his desk behind a stack of unread documents, a half-eaten slice of ginger cake, and a cold cup of coffee.

And Henry, smiling. "Merry Christmas, Mr. President." He was dressed in his usual black wool jacket and trousers—though there was a twist of greens pinned to his lapel.

Abe stood, extending his hand to take Henry's. "What right have I to be merry?"

"You seemed quite well tonight," Henry said, "entertaining with your family at dinner."

Abe grunted, noncommittal. "I was happy to see them to bed. I don't have time for frivolity. In case you haven't noticed, there's a war on."

"Yes," said Henry, softly. "Abraham, I—"

"But since you're here," Abe cut him off and reached into his desk drawer to retrieve a small, inexpertly wrapped parcel. "Merry Christmas, Henry."

If a change came over Henry – if he was touched by the sentiment – it bloomed only for a moment, then was gone.

*

Abe had been a vampire for nine months.

Nine months of fury. Nine months of hunger. Nine months of missing Mary. And nine months of Henry, ever at Abe's beckon call. Beautiful, intelligent, _fierce_ Henry. Persistent. Calm, even as Abe berated him; patient despite Abe's insistence that his teachings were worthless.

Henry, who extracted Abe's body from its tomb and made of Abe the thing he most despised. He'd held Abe through those first excruciating days. Wiped his brow and kissed his eyes, cheeks, mouth—kissed him until Abe kissed back, suddenly awake, drunk on blood, a stranger to his own mind.

And Abe fled. Sometimes packing a bag, leaving a note; and sometimes simply turning his back and walking away.

Henry found him.

But then, perhaps Abe allowed himself to be found.

"Abe. Let this be an end to it," Henry pleaded this time. His face was moon-pale, smooth, and so very pained. "Stay here. _Let me help you_."

God be damned, but Abe's whole heart went out to him, this creature who like some fairytale ghoul had robbed him from his cradle as well as his grave. This _vampire_. His Henry.

"Yes," he said, at last. "I'll stay."

*

At Henry's coaxing, from the time Abe developed sufficient immunity to the light of the sun – one hundred and fifty years into their long, complicated knowing of each other, give or take – they made a point to watch it rise.

And they did so whether they were in London or Tangier or Jakarta or Mumbai, Key West or Cadillac Mountain—or home, settled side by side at the cliff's edge of their property which abutted the vast Pacific.

The golden hour, Henry called it. When all the slowly warming, waking world seemed wrought from fire. When Abe looked at Henry and saw him glow with it.

When Henry looked back. "Abraham. I—" He shook his head as if to clear it before beginning again, "You make me happier than I've any right to expect. But perhaps... That is, we might..." only to trail off softly. There was a strange look in his eyes. But then again, no: that look had long since taken up residence there.

And then again, Abe wondered if it'd kill him to return it for once.

"Say it, Henry," he ordered, closing the distance between them—taking Henry in his arms and holding him close.

*

In the end, they kept things simple: just the two of them, a Justice of the Peace, and a couple of clerks bearing witness on a Friday afternoon in September.

Although Henry did insist that they both wear complimentary grey linen suits tailored just for the occasion. The fit, Abe found, was perfect—a welcome detail when they were called forward to recite their vows, and despite not being able to sweat, his shirt collar feeling ever so slightly snug round his throat.

They'd fed the night before. Properly sated themselves in a way they hadn't for so long, and Henry's hand was almost warm when Abe took it to slide the thin, gold band over his finger; when he nested his own fingers in Henry's hair and guided his face toward him; when they kissed and Henry whispered, "Abe, Abe, my love," like an incantation.

When Abe said, solemnly, "I love you too, Henry. I've never been one to mince words, so there it is. Would you forgive an old fool for taking a dog's age to admit it?"

Which coaxed a low laugh from Henry. "Old, my dear? Oh, but you certainly don't look a day over ninety nine."

**Author's Note:**

> I recently discovered this little fic in my WIP folder and decided to dust it off and post it. Consider it my capstone contribution to the ALVH fandom :)


End file.
